


Held captive in the Light

by LoveChilde



Category: Da Vinci's Demons
Genre: Biting, Bloodplay, Bondage, Leo is a slave to his art, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Missing Scene, Obsession, Painting, Riario would leave if he could, Shameless advantage-taking, but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2018-01-10 04:27:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1155074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveChilde/pseuds/LoveChilde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are soldiers coming to look for the count, and Leonardo knows he's running out of time, but he just can't pass up an opportunity to sketch this particular scene. And then things get out of hand, quite unexpectedly. </p>
<p>Slash, milder kink than all those tags imply, the bondage is entirely canonical. Missing scene from episode 1X07.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Held captive in the Light

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm innocently* watching a show, and then there's sudden Riario tied to a tree, and it's like my birthday came early. I swear, the fic just wrote itself, and neither I nor Leo could help taking advantage. I regret nothing. Beta by the lovely Joan Milligan. 
> 
>  
> 
> * as innocently as I ever watch anything...I swear, this show is just constant fan-fodder.

He hurts all over. There is almost definitely something torn in his right hip, or at least bone-deep bruising, he's still damp and shivering slightly in the cold morning air, and he hasn't slept in...days, probably. But all this is not unusual. What was unusual, when Leonardo looks back, was the quality of light. And the way that the light was falling on one Girolamo Riario, tied to a tree, gagged and looking much like a cat who had been kept away from his quarry. Disgruntled but still defiant, even now that Leo has taken his key, advanced himself one step closer to the Book of Leaves, was, for once, in a position of power over him. But it was the light that truly caught his attention.

"Nico." He stops and holds out an imperious hand. "Paper. And charcoal." 

"What?" Nico stops as well, giving him an incredulous look. "Now? Maestro, we have to leave." 

"I can't lose this light, Nico. Paper and something to sketch with, please." Why, why is the boy so slow, bothering him with inconsequentials? 

"Leo, there are soldiers coming to look for the him. We have to leave." Zoroaster looks about ready to try to drag Leo away physically, and Leo very much hopes he wouldn't; he hasn't the energy for another fight right now.

"You two can go ahead. I doubt I'll have another opportunity like this, and I want to capture it. Go on, but for God's sake let me have some paper and charcoal!" His pockets empty of anything useful, Leonardo grabs Nico's pack, where he knows for a fact there would be some supplies, and strides back in the direction they'd come from. 

He takes up a spot some distance away from the immobilized count, and considers the light, the best angles to work with.

"You'd be quite perfect to pose as Saint Sebastian, you know. I'll even be kind and draw the arrows in later, rather than attach them to you now." He says, distracted by inner visions. It is his habit to talk to his models, and he rarely expects a reply. Riario, being gagged, can't answer, which is really for the best. "But you're not quite...saintly enough, shall we say?" 

Charcoal rushes across the page, sketching long lines, filling in shadowed spots. The position is right for the martyrdom of Sebastian, but the expression...veiled hatred, fury, frustration, and...Leo stops, tilts his head, and steps closer. Surely it can't be...a kind of lust? Desire, maybe. But perhaps, Leo thinks, not for sex. For possession. A sort of hunger. Yes, that is it exactly. Hunger. Leonardo smiles, slow and thoughtful. 

"Not a martyr, then, A serpent. That is what you are, is it not, Girolamo? A snake in the grass." One page is discarded as Leo takes up a clean one, and starts again, drawing first the tree and the the snake wound around it, sinuous and slick, with Riario's face. This is more fitting, the expression precisely right, all the muted hunger of one seeing love that he could never have, the hatred of one who wished to destroy perfect innocence. "Fortunately, I am no innocent, and I have had some small experience already with the tree of knowledge." He is only vaguely aware that Nico and Zoroaster haven't left, but are standing some distance away, watching. Probably, hopefully, guarding against the soldiers who are surely looking for the count even now. 

"I need a closer look." Leo moves in, studying Riario as an object, a still life rather than a person, even as the features half-obscured by a dirty rag twist in fury. He captures that fury, the disdain, the defeat. "I usually have to annoy my models a lot more actively to get this depth of emotion, Girolamo. Perhaps tying them up is an idea I shall adopt for every-day use." As he would a still life, he casually moves a strand of hair which has fallen over Riario's eyes. They need to catch the light better, he wished to remember just how they shine with hatred. Something in the way Riario's breath hitches and then quickens at his touch, the way his eyes seem brighter, makes Leo pause. Almost without thought, he cups Riario's face with one hand, one thumb smoothing just above the gag, stroking the cut Nico left on his cheek, still slightly wet with unclotted blood. The shiver Leo expects; the moan, less so. It does not sound like pain.

"You're quite good at temptation, aren't you? But...dare I say that the seducer might be seduced, himself?" He has no real interest in the count, he tells himself, but his reactions require further study. It is good to know one's enemies, and Riario is certainly one of those. "Do you take pleasure in your own pain as well as others'?" Leo strokes the cut again, and Riario shudders, his hips hitching forward. His eyes snap open, full of revulsion and anger under a glaze of helpless need. Maybe that's what he's missing, for Saint Sebastian's expression. Surrender. Ecstasy. These can be achieved, he knows. But Leo prefers his models cooperative and consenting. 

"I'm going to remove the gag, briefly." He warns, his tone conversational. "And while it is true that I don't want to take your life, I have already killed at least one man tonight, and two bad memories are no worse than one." A blatant lie. "Do not scream, do not shout for help. You...don't really want to be helped, do you?" They are close enough now that he feels the heat radiating from the other man, almost thinks he can hear his heart pounding. "If I stop now, you'll forever wonder how this might have ended. So please, don't scream." He pulls down the gag and immediately covers Riario's mouth with his hand. There is no scream, only breath, hot and moist against his palm.

"Good. Now, you can guess what I intend. If you consent, bite my hand." It occurs to Leo that his proposal, his very actions, may seem quite deranged. In fact, they may actually _be _quite deranged. But he asks, anyway, his free hand already pulling neatly at the ties of Roario's codepiece, papers tucked under his arm for convenience.__

__He doesn't twitch, doesn't even blink, when teeth close on his palm with vicious strength, tearing the skin and drawing blood. He only smiles again, showing his own teeth, and keeps pulling on strings until he can move the fabric aside. He doesn't even look down, keeping his eyes on Riario's. But his hand wraps around him, hot and heavy and hard, as he knew he would be, and Riario groans, muffled by Leo's hand._ _

__"Shh. It would be terribly inconvenient if your soldiers find us now." Leo murmurs. Tugging with a dry hand is uncomfortable- for both of them, he sees when Riario can't quite hide a wince. Leo's hand is rough, made so by countless burns, harsh chemicals and sword fighting. This is not the kind of pain he wants to give. In a flash of inspiration, Leo changes hands, exchanging a dry hand for the one already slicked by spit and blood. Riario's eyes widen, and his hips buck again, thrusting into Leo's palm, hard against the savaged skin. It hurts them both now, which seems quite fitting. His hand covering Riario's mouth presses his head against the tree, keeps him still and steady, if not entirely quiet; the occasional gasp escapes, stifled yet audible. "You're close, aren't you?" Leo leans in, marvelling at the intensity in the other man's face. He does not realize that Riario's expression is but an echo of his own, he doesn’t know how overwhelming the force of his full attention on somebody can be. They see only each other, now, feel and know only the other, to the exclusion of all else._ _

__It is a form of communion, and takes up all their concentration. Leo is focused both on the movement of his hand and on the shifting expression on Riario's face, as the other man slowly comes apart under his hands, shuddering into a climax sudden enough to surprise Leo, who thought they had a while to go yet. But the quickly swallowed cry, the arched back- plus the undeniable proof now smeared all over his hand, tell him that this is the closest he will get to a complete surrender. He drops everything and snatches up the paper and stick of charcoal from where they'd fallen, wipes his hand on his breeches and draws like a man possessed, trying to capture the moment._ _

__By the time the count collects himself, he has a handful of lines of the page, disjointed: the curve of a jaw, eyes, half closed with pleasure and pain, the twitch of a cheek and a nose. It is enough, for his needs. The rest he can recall later._ _

__Normally at this point he might offer a model a quick kiss and a cuddle, perhaps a chance to return the favour, if the mood was right for it. It isn't, now; any arousal he felt has been channelled into the drawing, and spent in the effort of it. He feels refreshed and yet drained, as he would after vigorous lovemaking, and with more to show for it than just the memory of sex. In any case, a cuddle is out of the question entirely and Leo is reasonably sure that Riario would try to tear out his tongue if given the chance, so kissing is hardly an option as well. He makes do with another stroke of Riario's cheek, which now elicits only a snarl, and a kiss to that same cheek, tasting blood._ _

__"Thank you." He breathes, smiling again, but far more pleasantly. "One day we may end up with one of us killing the other, but I'm glad I got to draw you first. You'll make a lovely Saint Sebastian, after all."_ _

__"I will not forget this, _artista _." Riario's voice is rough, low- and utterly furious, quite a distance from the boneless pleasure only moments before. Now that it is over, Leo knows he must be feeling his predicament all the more sharply, and does not begrudge him his anger and resentment.__ __

____"You had better not, Girolamo. Remember this, and remember that you agreed to it, that you wanted it, when you see the finished painting. I have given you the grace given to martyrs by God- what does that make me, Girolamo? What does it make you?"_ _ _ _

____Leo pulls the gag back up, not interested in whatever reply the count might have given, and arranges his clothing back to decency. He wipes his hand mostly clean on the grass, quickly, and takes up the papers. "You'll be found soon enough. Until we meet again, be well."_ _ _ _

____He turns and walks away to join his friends, who stare at him, looking slightly ill (Nico) and like they might call for a doctor or an exorcist (Zoroaster), but wisely ask him no questions. The soldiers are close, and they must leave immediately._ _ _ _

____But Leo carries the memory in his heart, as he is sure Riario does as well. He remembers the hunger, and the satiation of it. And he wonders, when might the count be hungry again?_ _ _ _


End file.
